The Dark Mark
by Lady Lloth
Summary: Possibly the Strangest crossover you will ever read. The Las Vegas Crime lab has been swamped with a series of murders, all connected by a single symbol. They will have to work with the Ministry of Magic to solve these bloody crimes
1. Lemon Drops

****

Disclaimer:

This fic is the product of a warped mind, and therefore should not be taken seriously, or taken at all for that manner because that's plagiarism, and seeing as how none of these characters belong to me, we'd ALL get in a buttload of trouble. And you know you'd get caught, 'Cos Grissom would SO be on your case. You can't fool him. He's too smart. So Nyah! Other than that, enjoy, be kind,and review!

Love from

Lady Lloth

Las Vegas, 10:30 p.m

Gil Grissom entered the house warily. This was the fourth ion a string of seemingly unrelated, signature murders, the same symbol as the others burned into the front door.

He set his kit and mag-light down briefly and surveyed his surroundings, his sharp, grey eyes narrowed as he considered the scene before him. It was eerie, dark and cluttered. There had obviously been a struggle. The coffee table was overturned and the T.V was laying on it's side, cracked, smoking, and silent. There were scorch marks on the thick, shag, carpet and long scratches on the walls. It was, in essence, just like the other crime scenes. For once, Gil Grissom the night shift supervisor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, was confused. There was no actual pattern, no real motive, except maybe a simple love for killing, and worst of all no suspects in these murders. Eckly, the day shift supervisor, seemed to think they were gang or cult related, judging by the symbol carved into the doors of the victims home.

Behind him a flash flared to life briefly as Sara Sidle, one of his CSI, a young woman with shoulder length chestnut hair, took a picture of the symbol, a Skull with a snake protruding from it's mouth like a tongue. She was obviously as frustrated as he.

"This doesn't make any sense." She muttered, taking a few more photographs of the scene.

"Killers rarely do." Grissom replied calmly, though he agreed wholeheartedly with her.

"But they usually follow some kind of pattern. I've never seen anything this...random, disjointed. It's almost as if it was done on a whim…" She continued as she put the camera away and moved to her kit. It was about time to start dusting for prints, even though they both knew they wouldn't find anything. Cars rumbled by outside, punctuated by the boyish tenor voice of Nick Stokes, the strapping, dark haired man who worked under Grissom.

"We've found the bodies." He called, stepping into the living room from the hallway. "David says it's the same as the others. They look like they've been frightened to death too."

"They haven't been frightened to death." Grissom muttered. "That's not possible. There has to be some other explanation." He insisted, eyeing Nick sternly. Sara looked up at Nick and shrugged behind their boss's back. Until otherwise, that's how they would look at it, improbable or not.

Grissom stepped into the dining room where the coroner, David, a stocky young man with mousy hair and glasses.

"What's the cause of death?" He asked automatically, looking around at the family, still sitting around the table in their dinner things.

"There is none!" David said in exasperation. "Apart from the fact that they're all dead, they seem perfectly healthy, but they'll be taken to Doc Robbins anyway." He sighed.

"Can you give time of death?" Grissom asked dismally.

"Nope. It's just like the others, as if they'd been in a freezer." He breathed in frustration. Grissom scowled. This was bad. If they didn't find the killer soon…..

****

Later:

Grissom stood shoulder to shoulder with Doc Robbins, the plump, aged Coroner, as he examined the corpses. Each was almost exactly like the others, cold as ice, pale, rigid, their faces twisted and their mouths open in silent screams.

"I sent blood samples to trace, so we'll know soon enough if there's any sort of toxin in their systems..: He said, though they both knew that wouldn't happen. There would once again be no apparent cause of death, even though they all knew perfectly well that four healthy people did not just drop dead of natural causes. Grissom shook his head and closed his grey eyes. Never before had a case challenged him as mush as this, not even Paul Mulander. And, usually a challenge was a welcome thing, but this…this was senseless…cruel. Grissom wasn't really listening to Doc. Robbins either, the only sound that managed to punctuate his thoughts being the steady clunk of Robbins' wooden leg as he moved to the other side of the table, clear blue eyes fixed on the bodies as he worked. They were both interrupted, however as a tall, willowy red head entered the room, her expression caught somewhere between concern and anxiety.

"Brass wants to talk to you, Gil." Catherine Willows said, eyeing the bodies almost sadly. She had been working the cases as well, and knew, like all the others, that they were no nearer to catching the killer and a lot closer to having another death. Whoever was doing this was at least following one pattern common to serial killers. They were escalating, gradually killing more and more people with each scene they left.

"I'll be there in a minute." Grissom said, and upon closer inspection, Catherine could see dark circles under his eyes. She nodded and left the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake. Grissom stood there a moment, looking down at the two children, and then, with a final glance at the white haired coroner, quit the room as well.

****

Homicide, The Office of Jim Brass

Brass was a thick man, built like a bull, with a broad, furrowed face and dark hair parted neatly atop his head. His thick hands were folded on his desk, and his expression indicated this was to keep them from fidgeting nervously. Under his hands was a manila envelope with the federal seal. It was thick, as if the file contained within spanned more than a decade. Grissom took a seat in the vacant chair across room Brass, expression mildly curious.

"Do you have a lead for me?" He asked, his tone almost hopeful. Brass gave a mirthless chuckle and handed Grissom the envelope.

"Boy do I." He said, shaking his head slowly from side to side, as if in shock or disbelief. "Got this from the Feds this morning. They seem to think that you can handle it, seeing as how these murders have occurred in your jurisdiction."

"Well that's generous of them." Grissom muttered dryly as he slid the files from the envelope and opened them. He had just glanced down at the first when he let out a sharp gasp and dropped the stack of papers. The pictured had _moved!_

"Government's known about them for some time, but we haven't been able to do anything about it. They say it was all being taken care of, but the guys the feds said would handle it, apparently couldn't. They're offering you the case." Brass said in a would be calm voice.

"known about who?" Grissom demanded weakly as he watched a photo of a once pretty woman glare haughtily up at him through heavily lidded eyes, crossing her arms and moving to lean against the frame.

"Wizards." Brass said, rubbing his forehead. Grissom looked up sharply.

"Come again?"

"Wizards and Witches." Brass clarified. "They have their own society, right under our noses. The Feds have been helping keep them hidden for years, but these murders are starting to leak into the media. That symbol is called the "Dark Mark" and is unique to a group called Death Eaters. They're a bunch of wackos following this guy, Voldemort. The "Ministry of Magic has sent a message to the Feds, asking for help. They want you and your team to do the helping." He finished, taking a long swig from his coffee mug, as though that would help wake him from what was so obviously a bad dream.

Grissom gave a mirthless laugh, waiting for Brass to let him in on the joke. But he didn't.

"A representative will be meeting you in a half hour, until then, you'd better brief your team. You'll all be going over to England." Brass continued.

In a daze, Grissom nodded and quit the room, taking with him the strange moving photos and the files written on what appeared to be parchment.

About fifteen minutes later the entire team; Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, Catherine Willows and Greg Saunders from the chem. lab, were all gathered around reading the files and ogling the pictures. They all seemed as stunned and skeptical as he was, but how could you refute moving photos? Grissom wondered vaguely what other sorts of impossibilities they would encounter, resigned as he was to following this case through. The only person who seemed unperturbed was Greg.

"This is amazing!" He gushed, practically dancing on the spot. "Magic! Wizards! And we get to go see them!"

Catherine cast him a bewildered look, her head cocked to one side and her mouth slightly opening disbelief, though none of them could think of anything to say to this. Nick and Warrick exchanged glances, seeming caught somewhere between tears and laughter, and Sara just kept shaking her head and making little noises in the back of her throat, especially upon seeing what these "Death Eaters" Were capable of. Grissom was about to speak, to say something to bring some sense to the situation, and maybe stop Greg from dancing on his sneakered toes, when the sound like the crack of a whip made them all jump a foot in the air.

They whirled around, facing the source of the noise with guns drawn, but made no other move, each mouth hanging open in astonishment. Before them stood a very old man with long silver hair and beard. Half moon spectacles were perched on a long and crooked nose, and he was dressed in long purple robes embroidered with gold. He seemed not to be paying attention as he tried to unstuck two pieces of yellow candy. After a few moments of tense silence, the old man looked up, smiled kindly and held out one of the candies to Warrick.

"Lemon Drop?" He asked, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half moon spectacles.

Warrick accepted the candy and put his gun away, looking inquiringly at the others.

"Who…who are you?" Catherine asked, blinking in surprise. Slowly the others put their weapons away as well, watching as the old man gave a low bow his beard sweeping the floor.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." He said, beaming all around at them. "The Ministry of Magic has requested I represent them in light of these horrible events. While you are working n concert with the Ministry, I do hope you will accept my invitation and stay at the School I run. We have plenty of room, I assure you."

They all looked to Grissom, Greg aquiver with excitement. Slowly, he nodded.

"Where is this school?" He asked.

"Oh, I can't give you the exact coordinates, that would go against our muggle relations-"

"Muggle?" Sara asked sharply, brow furrowed.

Dumbledore gave a soft chuckle. "It's what we Wizards call non-magic folk." He explained. The CSI all looked at each other, part apprehension, part amusement. "As I was saying, we'll be taking a portkey." Dumbledore continued, pulling a ratty old boot from within his robes and producing a long, slender wand.

"You're gonna do magic!" Greg asked, unable to contain himself. Nick and Warrick chuckled nervously, shaking their heads.

"I am indeed." Dumbledore said, grinning in a fatherly way at the Chem. technician. He muttered something under his breath and tapped the old boot with is wand. It glowed briefly blue and then lay quiet and unobtrusive on the table in the center of the cluttered room.

"Everyone gather 'round." Dumbledore said, putting his wand once ore in his robes and waving them all closer. "And touch the portkey, just a finger will do. One…Two…Three!"

And as they all touched the ratty old boot, they felt as if they were being pulled sharply backwards by a hook in their navel, a loud whooshing in their ears as strange, shadowed pictures whizzed past them.


	2. Welcome to Hogwarts

****

Hogsmeade, 11:30 p.m

They landed hard on soft, grassy earth somewhere in a small village. Nick staggered sideways, knocking both Warrick and Greg off their feet. A Neat little Pub was a few yards away and windows were all aglow with warm light. A sultry breeze blew and a wolf howled in the distance. Dumbledore smiled down at the group of muggle investigators and helped them clamber to their feet.

"We have a bit of a walk ahead of us." He warned them lightly. "Perhaps you would like a drink in the Three Broomsticks while I answer any questions you may have." He offered, nodding to the little pub. Grissom nodded mutely as Sara and the others craned their necks to get a better view of the picturesque houses.

"Over there is Zonkos joke shop, and that's Honeydukes Sweet Shop…" Dumbledore was saying to Greg, who looked like a kid at Christmas. Nick and Warrick looked to Grissom with raised eyebrows, but kept their thoughts to themselves. Catherine was shaking her head as if to clear water from her eyes. This was unbelievable…and yet…here they were! The Three Broomsticks was like something from a fairly tale, and the curvy witch selling the drinks made them feel right at home.

"What'll it be, Headmaster?" She asked with a smile on her pretty face.

"Seven Butterbeers, Rosmerta. I'm afraid We wont be staying long." Dumbledore said, and the woman nodded, her glittering turquoise heels clicking merrily on the wooden floor.

"Okay, So you said you'd answer our questions.." Nick began tentatively. Dumbledore nodded. Nick looked back to Grissom and the others for support and then plowed ahead,

"Why are these 'Death Eaters' attacking people in Vegas?"

"That we do not know. The attacks have previously been isolated to Europe, but we think Voldemoret is widening his sphere of influence. He's not content with the terror he's inspired here."

"But why is he attacking people anyway? What is there to gain from these murders?" Sara asked, sipping her butterbeer, pleasantly surprised by the smooth sweet drink.

"Voldemort believes Wizards with no muggle blood in their line are superior to those who DO have muggle lineage, and muggles are lower than dirt. He has everything to gain from these attacks, followers, either out of fear or respect. In short, these murders are the first steps in his building of an empire."

"How can we stop this madman then, if he's so powerful?" Catherine asked, voice low with apprehension.

"You will not be catching Voldemort, I'm afraid." Dumbledore told her gravely. "He rarely does his ow n dirty work. No, you'll be helping to round up his followers, those in his inner circle."

"Then Who WILL get this Voldemort guy?" Warrick asked in frustration.

"We had best get up to the castle. It's growing late and you have a lot of work ahead of you. I'm sure you'd like a good night's rest." Said Dumbledore, avoiding Warrick's question.

"Thank you." Grissom said courteously as they made their way down the road towards the magnificent castle that served as the School.

"No, no." Dumbeldore said. "Thank you! You are arguably the best Muggle crime solvers of the century. We're very glad indeed that you're helping us to catch these Death Eaters."

"Well if they're killing people, someone's got to stop them." Catherine said matter of factly.

"And it looks like these guys need to be stopped." Nick added, waving one of the files slightly. Dumbledore looked suddenly grave.

"Yes…" He agreed, looking suddenly very old indeed. "I don't think the wizarding world could take another war." He sighed.

"War?" Warrick asked curiously, eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in thought as he considered the old wizard beside him. "Wouldn't we know if there had been a war?"

"Oh, no. Voldmeort is a master of covert operations." Dumbeldore assured him. "And your Governments as well as ours would have done all they could to hush up the mysterious killings and disappearances." He sighed.

"But not this time." Grissom muttered, and Dumbeldore nodded somberly.

"Yes. We need all the help we can get." He said, and even Greg looked serious at this, suddenly all of them were determined to catch and incarcerate these cold blooded killers.

****

The Staffroom, 8:00 a.m

Grissom, Catherine, and Greg entered the Staffroom early the next morning, Sara, Nick, and Warrick having gone to the Ministry in London, from where they would be working, corresponding with what the others could find out. It was an odd arrangement to say the least.

Grissom was still getting used to the idea that staircases could move, portraits could talk, and ghosts floated around as if it was perfectly normal, which, Catherine and Greg reminded him, for Hogwarts, WAS normal. A cheery fire was burning in the grate, and a number of Witches and Wizards were gathered to meet the three Muggles. Dumbledore introduced them one by one; Tiny little professor Flitwick, Stern Professor McGonagall, Madam Sprout, Madam Hooch, Professor Sinistra, Sallow faced, hook nosed, Professor Snape, and tired looking Professor Lupin. Lupin sat in an armchair by the fire, looking rather ill, though he offered a warm smile to each of the CSI.

"My staff will be more than willing to aid you in any way you need." Dumbledore said, and there was a murmur of agreement from the gathered teachers.

"Thank you." Grissom said as Catherine nodded and Greg examined the room with interest. "We've just gotten a number of files and reports, and new evidence has been found in the latest of our crime scenes. If you have a room where we can go over theses things without being disturbed…" He continued, careful to keep his body language unconcerned and professional. He adjusted his glasses and glanced around the room, the envelope sent from Brass held in his left hand, which rested easily at his side.

"I'm sure there's a room in the dungeons you could use…Do you think, Severus, that you could show them the way?" Dumbledore said, turning his face towards the black robed Potions master. Snape gave a curt nod and motioned for the Muggles to follow him as he swept towards the door.

"Dungeons?" Catherine asked under her breath, casting Grissom a sideways glance. He raised his eyebrows innocently and gave a small shrug, turning his attention away from the greasy haired potions master and consulting the letter from Brass.

"Hair and fibers have been found at the scene, as well as blood on the broken glass from the window." He said, reading off the list of evidence to Catherine and Greg.

"Too bad we don't have any of these guys in our database." Greg said, examining the Dungeons with interest.

"Write Brass back, maybe the Feds have a database." Catherine offered.

"Does the postman even come here?" Greg asked rhetorically. He was answered by the silky voice of Snape, who snickered slightly before speaking.

"No. The castle has a number of Muggle repelling charms on it, but I'm sure you can use one of the school owls." He said, his words holding a slight mocking lilt. Catherine eyed him warily and Grissom was waiting to see if he was kidding, but Greg blundered ahead eagerly.

"You send mail by _owls_?" He asked breathlessly.

"Naturally." Snape said with a sneer playing easily about his pale face. He fell silent and motioned curtly to a large oak door before turning on his heel and stalking away, his robes billowing dramatically behind him.

They gathered around a large table in the middle of the room and Grissom spread the file out atop it, seating himself heavily. Inside the file was a report several pages long, detailing the evidence found at the scene.

"So we have all of this evidence, but no suspect ."Catherine muttered irritably.

"We have a number of suspects, but they're currently nowhere to be found." Grissom corrected her, motioning to the file of information on Death Eaters.

"A lot of good that does us." Catherine said glumly.

"What do you suppose we do?" Greg asked, leafing though the report. Grissom sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "We send Nick, Sara, and Warrick back to Vegas to process the evidence. This doesn't add up with the other scenes. While they're doing that we'll check the ministry and the feds for a database of DNA and fingerprints. Until we get our results we sit tight and keep our fingers crossed."

Catherine nodded and dropped her gaze back to the list of things found at the scene, a piece of black cloth, hair, black fibers, blood, and prints, along with the dark mark. At least they were making progress.


	3. Thestrals

****

Author's Note: Thanks to all who have left me reviews, especially CrimsonRegret42.(thanks also for adding my story to your favorites) I know Grissom would have asked a lot more questions, but I look at is as more of he was in shock. Mr. Science-is-god-would-you-like-a-chocolate-covered-grasshopper is a little overwhelmed, but the fun starts soon. (hence the 'Humor' sub-genre) He'll be a little more himself in this chapter, I promise. Thanks again!

Love From

Lady Lloth

Lunch, the Great Hall:

Grissom and his team were seated at the end of the Staff Table in the great hall, who's vaulted ceiling reflected the clear sapphire sky outside. Long tables lined the floor, and students went about their lunch and gossip without paying the six muggles the slightest bit of attention. They were all talking animatedly about something called "Kwidditch", but the CSI didn't bother to learn what that was. Aside from Greg, who was staring at the ceiling so much that he kept missing his mouth when he brought his fork up to it, they were busy discussing what they would do about their case.

The Ministry had been little help, having little to no record of the Death Eaters other than the file that Grissom already had. To cap it all off, Eckly was trying to take over back in Vegas. He was insisting that the murders were cult related, despite the complete lack of any evidence pointing in this direction, not the least of which being the lack of ritualistic mutilations or execution style killing.

"As much as I trust Eckly's team, I don't trust Eckly." Grissom was saying to them, their heads all bent close as if in a sports huddle.

"So we go back and process the scenes and the evidence, and then relay what we have to you." Sara reasoned.

"And you relay it to the Ministry." Nick finished for her. Grissom nodded.

"It's the only way we can do this, if we want to do it right." Catherine added.

"How will we be getting back?" Warrick asked warily, his pale eyes darting to Dumbledore, who was talking animatedly with the diminutive professor Flitwick. They were a bit ruffled by magical travel. They had thought the portkey was bad, but when they returned to Hogwarts by Floo Powder, dizzy, their elbows banged up and their clothes covered in soot, they were downright disgruntled. Greg was still inclined to laugh at the looks on their faces, but not nearly as much as he was likely to bemoan not being able to try Floo travel himself.

"I think the Headmaster said something about a bus…" Grissom said carefully. Dumbldore seemed to have heard himself mentioned and turned to regard them.

"Oh, yes! I've booked three seats on the Knight Bus for them. It'll have them Back to Las Vegas before you can say Oddment!" He assured them with a wide smile. Sara, Warrick and Nick exchanged glances, eyebrows raised.

"Oddment." Nick muttered, shaking his head, a shadow if his customary grin flitting across his chiseled face. Warrick and Sara Laughed nervously. Grissom shook his head, as if trying to wake up after a long night of work. He found himself examining the ceiling with as much interest as Greg. How was this _possible_? He'd been debunking things like this for years. There was no such thing as magic, just Siegfried and Roy and their ilk working the stages of his hometown. It was insane! And yet, here he was, in an enchanted castle eating lunch with witches and wizards while trying to catch a band of cold blooded murderers who used wands instead of guns.

He watched children no older than eleven making puffs of smoke and small explosions as they tried to get their homework done. He watched on bushy haired fifteen year old turn her water goblet into a bird. He blinked and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, turning back to his meal. Even that was unsettling, since at the beginning of the meal, food just _appeared_ on the plates. (Much to Greg's delight)

He was still pondering this as they were lead to a horseless carriage that would take Sara, Nick and Warrick back to Hogsmeade. He walked around and around the thing, poking and prodding. There was something solid there, he could feel it, he just couldn't _see_ it.

"What's hooked up to these?" He asked Dumbledore, running his hand along what he supposed was an extremely bony flank.

"Thestrals. Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Hagrid, has managed to tame a whole herd of them for the school."

"What?" Sara asked as the others gathered around Grissom, eying him curiously as he patted empty air.

"Thestrals." Dumbeldore repeated, patting something they couldn't see affectionately. "They are a horse like beast that is invisible to Muggles and any who have not seen someone die." He added, a bit more somberly. "They are very intelligent, though I daresay Hagrid could tell you more about them than I." Catherine stared hard at the empty air Grissom was resting his hand on, lips pursed, and then cast her boss a sideways glance. He was looking thoughtful, glancing over his shoulder at the hut on the edge of the grounds. She knew he was itching to go see this Hagrid immediately and bombard him with questions. She knew the feeling. It was all so unreal, So fantastic, like a dream they couldn't wake from. After a moment Grissom nodded to himself as if coming to a decision, and Catherine and Greg exchanged knowing smiles. Tentatively, Sara, Warrick and Nick entered the carriage. It was cool and dark inside, and while the seats were comfortable, there was a faint smell of mold, as if they, like the castle, were very old.

They trundled along at moderate speed. They could hear hooves and feel the carriage sway, but it was unnerving to not _see_ the horses pulling them towards their destination. They were relieved to finally clamber out onto the Hogsmeade Train Station,though the feeling lasted only long enough for them to hear a loud BANG! Nick stared openmouthed, his eyes wide as a tripple decker, violently Purple bus came to a halt in front of them. Sara laughed in bewilderment, shaking her head as Warrick swore loudly. Without warning a pimply teen with large, batlike ears leapt from the door of the Bus.

****

"Hello, my name is Stan shunpike and I will be your conductor for this afternoon, Welcome to the Knight Bus!"

"Uh..Hi." Nick offered, handing the conductor a slip of parchment that Dumbeldore had given him. Stan looked at it, nodded, and bid them board the bus. They all seated themselves in overstuffed armchairs, looking around with a mixture of interest and anxiety. As interesting as this all was, they would be glad to be back amidst the safe familiarity of the Lab.

"Take her away, Ern." They heard Stan call, and with a great lurch that caused the chairs to skid forward and another loud BANG, they were off, countryside whizzing by and everything from trees to farmhouses leaping out of the way. It seemed the driver, Ernie Prang, had not yet mastered use of the wheel.

"I think I'm gonna be sick." Warrick muttered, looking hopelessly at Nick and Sara, hands clenched tightly on the arms of his chair. He barely heard Stan chuckling at them as he unfolded a copy if the Daily Prophet. Sara however seemed to be having the time of her life, looking out the window with an expression reminiscent of Greg on her face as the bus lurched and bounded along. Nick merely shook his head, grinning at both of his friends. There was never a dull moment when one worked at the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

****

****

Hogwarts

The days dragged by, and since Owls were much, much slower than e-mail and Instant messages, Grissom, Greg and Catherine had to find some other way to occupy themselves while waiting for replies and evidence from Vegas. It was not like they didn't have things to keep them busy, however. Grissom wasted no time in going to meet with Hagrid, the care of Magical Creatures Teacher. When Grissom knocked on his door on a Saturday afternoon, he was greeted by the loud barks of Fang the boarhound and the biggest man he had ever seen. He was easily taller than Grissom by about three feet. His hands were as big as trash can lids and his feet the size of small sleds. He was clad in a moleskin overcoat and his face was partially hidden by wild black hair and beard, but his beetle black eyes were crinkled in a welcoming smile.

"Gil Grissom, I'm here from the Las Vegas Crime Lab." Grissom said, extending his hand. Hagrid clasped it in his own huge mitt, completely covering Grissom's, though his welcoming smile faltered slightly.

"What brings yeh here?" He asked suspiciously. "I didn't do nothing…" He added as he looked down on Grissom.

"Actually," Grissom said with an almost embarrassed smile. "The Questions I have for you have nothing to with my job." He assured the giant before him.

****

"alrigh' then." Hagrid said, stepping aside and allowing Grissom entry. Instantly Fang bounded over, trying to lick his ears. "Can I get yeh a cuppa?" He asked, motioning to a large tea kettle on the stove. Grissom nodded, seating himself in a chair so big his feet barely reached the floor. As Hagrid bustled around making tea, Grissom surveyed the house. It was cozy in its own way. Hams and pheasant hung from the ceiling, there were dishes and rock cakes on the scrubbed wooden table. An enormous bed sat in the corner and a crossbow was on the wall. Grissom didn't want to know why he would need a crossbow, but it was fascinating nonetheless.

"So what did yeh want to know?" Hagrid asked, handing Grissom a cup the size of a small bowl and seating himself at the scrubbed table.

"I don't know where to start." Grissom admitted with a small grin. "The Headmaster tells me you've tamed a herd of creatures called Thestrals, what exactly are they? What do they eat? Are they dangerous? Where do you find them? Where do you keep them?"

****

"Slow down!" Hagrid said with a laugh, the corners of his beetle black eyes crinkling, waving his great hands in the air to silence Grissom. " Firs' off, Thestrals are like a cross between dragons and horses, yeh see." he said knowingly. "They got these huge wings like a bat, and a scaly dragon head. They like raw meat best, but I got em eating other stuff too. Most people say they're bad luck Cos yeh can't se em less you've seen someone die, but they're right smart, they are, can find anyplace if yeh ask em, have an amazing sense o direction, Thestrals have. I found this herd in the dark forest, they stay there most o the time." he added, jerking one huge thumb at the woods outside his window. Grissom craned his neck to look out the window, sipping the tea thoughtfully.

"What sort of creatures live in the Forest besides Thestrals?" He asked, turning his attention back to Hagrid, his head cocked slightly to one side, a small smile on his face as his curiosity grew.

"Oh all sorts o things." Hagrid replied happily, obviously enjoying the conversation. "Yeh got yer centaurs, yer unicorns, and a whole clan o Acromantulas…"

"Acromantuals?" Grissom pressed, interest piqued.

"Yeah!" Hagrid said. "Giant Spiders, one of em, Arogog, is bout as big as me hut." He said, grinning at the expression on Grissom's face, the way the entomologist's eyes lit up.

Grissom did not leave Hagrid's hut until well after dark, neither of them having noticed the passage of time until Three fifteen year olds, A red haired boy, the bushy haired girl and their black haired, bespectacled friend, came to call, and then they all trooped up to the castle for dinner, Grissom making Hagrid promise to take him into the forest so he could see these creatures for himself. Grissom never believed _anything_ without evidence.


	4. Enter Moony

****

The Great Hall, 6:30 p.m.

Catherine cast Grissom a sideways glance as he seated himself looking very pleased about something.

"Where've you been all day?" She asked as the food appeared on their plates as it had done at lunch.

"I've been chatting with Hagrid." He said, nodding towards the giant figure of the Gamekeeper." He promised to take me into the forest to see an _Acromantula._" he added lightly, helping himself to roast and mashed potatoes, a small grin on his face. It appeared to Catherine that the idea had him almost giddy with excitement.

"Acromantula?" Greg asked from his other side, his voice slightly muffled and his mouth full of food.

"Giant spider." Grissom explained, taking a sip from his goblet. Catherine and Greg exchanged glances, shaking their heads. Leave it to Grissom to find some way to throw bugs into the mix. Grissom chuckled silently to himself and looked back up at them, though he furrowed his brow as something caught his eye. "where's Lupin?" He asked. Greg shrugged.

"Dunno. He sort of vanished after lunch. Dumbledore says he's sick."

"According to some students I ran into it happens a lot." Catherine added, glancing at Lupin's empty seat.

"Wonder what's wrong with 'im." Greg muttered, brow furrowed as he gulped down more food. Grissom's brow furrowed and he turned his gaze to the Headmaster.

"Excuse me, Headmaster," He began conversationally. "But what exactly is the matter with Professor Lupin?" He asked, affecting a look of concern as his notorious curiosity took over as he leaned towards Dumbledore slightly, his hands folded neatly on the table.

"Oh, Remus has a condition that flares up every now and again." Dumbledore said unconcernedly. "Not to worry, Severus has given him his potion. He'll be up and about in no time. Treacle?" he asked, passing a large silver tourine Grissom's way. Grissom accepted it and nodded his thanks to the Headmaster, a slight grin still on his lips, though his grey eyes were thoughtful. He turned back to Catherine.

"He's hiding something." She said immediately, spooning some of the pudding on her plate. She saw it in the slight flicker of Dumbledore's blue eyes, the way his voice took on an airy quality as he avoided Grissom's inquiry. Grissom nodded, helping himself as well while Greg, oblivious to their conversation, was speaking happily with Madam Hooch about broomsticks and Quidditch.

"But what would he hide from us?" Grissom wondered quietly. "What could Lupin possibly need covered up like that?"

"Maybe we're overanalyzing. God knows we tend to complicate simple matters. I mean, it is our job to examine every little thing. But, maybe it's just embarrassing." Catherine offered. It was hard not to like Lupin, he was kind, soft spoken, and had a quiet sort of humor. The CSI in her wanted to know for certain he was trustworthy, but the human in her didn't want to find out he wasn't.

"Maybe. We certainly have no reason to investigate Lupin." Grissom admitted, but he was loathe to leave a question unanswered. Before he could say anything else, Greg gave a celebratory whoop next to him.

"We get to see a Quidditch match!' he said excitedly, turning his head away from a bemused Madam Hooch to face Grissom and Catherine again. Grissom chuckled, his expression matching that of Hooch, and Catherine, as she was wont to do whenever Greg spoke, merely shook her head with a bewildered smile on her lips.

****

8:15 p.m.

Grissom, Catherine and Greg trooped up one of the many marble staircases to the third floor, towards the tower where they were staying. They passed many students on their way, some going in the same direction, others heading down the stairs towards the dungeons or the kitchens. Grissom still hadn't gotten down how the 'House' thing worked out, and Greg was trying vainly to explain it to him and Catherine.

"The Hufflepuffs, the kids with the yellow and black on their robes go down to the Kitchens, their common room is around there somewhere, and the Slytherns go to one in the Dungeons. The Ravenclaws…" he was cut off by Catherine, who seemed to be trying to listen to something. A Small, thin boy with green and silver on his robes and tie was walking close at hand, flanked by two Gorilla-ish boys in his house. He had a pale, pointed face and sleek, white blond hair. He was speaking in a lazy, disdainful drawl.

"Wait until father finds out Dumbledore's let _Muggles_ into the castle. It's bad enough he lets all those Mudbloods in, but _Muggles? _I can't believe the Ministry would want their lot helping them. Not like they'd ever catch the dark lord's followers anyway. I must admit though, I can't_ wait_ until they find out why Lupin's gone and holed up in his office."

His cronies sniggered trollishly as they passed, and he cast the three CSI a cold, malevolent smile before disappearing behind a tapestry.

"What was that all about?" Greg asked, staring thoughtfully at the tapestry where the three boys had disappeared.

"Nice kid." Grissom muttered sarcastically. "Looks like there's something more to Lupin's 'illness' after all, though." he added, peering ahead, so lost in thought that his leg sank into the trick stair up to his thigh. The students passing them by snickered, hopping the step as though it were second nature, except the trio Grissom had met at Hagrid's, three Gryffindor fifth years by the name of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They stopped to help Catherine and Greg tug Grissom free.

"Thanks." he panted, eying the step dubiously.

"Anytime." Harry replied easily. "Listen, we heard what Malfoy said." He continued. "And it was complete rubbish. He's nothing but a stupid git."

"Yeah." Ron added earnestly. "We don't care if you're Muggles, you're helping Dumbledore, and besides, we haven't seen Hagrid this happy in ages."

"Uh…thanks." Catherine said hesitantly, Hermione was beaming at them, her face alight with interest.

"Oooh! Forensic Science sounds fascinating!" She breathed. "I've read about it. My Mum and Dad, they're dentists, have even helped the loal crime lab by supplying dental records so bodies could be identified." She appeared deeply in awe of the CSI standing before her, and Greg couldn't hold back a smile. Ron and Harry cast her exasperated looks.

"She's Muggle born." Ron explained. "Non magic parents you see." Ron explained, to which Greg nodded knowingly. He seemed to be catching on to how things worked quicker than either Grissom or Catherine, and they couldn't help but be impressed.

"So you two are on your house Quidditch team?" He prompted enthusiastically, to which Ron and Harry nodded, smiles spreading across their faces.

"Yeah, Ron's our new Keeper," Harry began.

"That's like a goalie." Greg said over his shoulder, but Grissom and Catherine weren't listening. They were watching Hermione roll her eyes and shake her bushy head.

"What did that Malfoy kid mean, about Lupin being holed up in his office? Is there something wrong?" Catherine asked, affecting concern for the Defense Against The Dark Arts Teacher. Harry and Ron suddenly broke off their conversation with Greg, staring suspiciously at Catherine. Hermione looked uneasy, casting her friends a worried glance.

"We told you, Malfoy's a stupid git. He just wants to make trouble." Ron said, going slightly pink.

"What's wrong with him?" Grissom pressed, surprised by their guarded reaction. "Is he contagious?"

"It's not for us to say." Hermione said shrilly.

"He hasn't threatened you, has he?" Catherine asked sharply. If there was one thing that got her blood boiling, it was adults who picked on kids.

"No!" Hermione said, sounding aghast at the idea. "Lupin would never!"

"You leave Professor Lupin alone!" Harry said hotly. "He's got enough on his plate without you lot nosing about in his business!"

"Yeah!" Ron added angrily. "He's the best Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher we've ever had! We don't need you lot making him think he has to resign again!"

"C'mon." Harry said resentfully, gripping Hermione's shoulder and casting a venomous glare at the CSI before he and his friends disappeared down another side passage.

"Wow." Greg muttered, blinking. "Awful touchy, aren't they?"

"Resign?" Catherine asked. "Again? Wonder what happened before…"

"Well, why don't we go find out?" Grissom suggested, motioning with one hand up the staircase. "I want to know what they're so desperate to keep quiet, especially if it's a dangerous disease." He added gravely. Both Greg and Catherine nodded.

They were halfway to his office on the third floor when a bloodcurdling shriek filled the air. Someone was in unbearable pain. They broke into a run, guns drawn as the screaming continued, changing subtlety into an inhuman howl. And then there was complete silence. It settled around the corridor in a palpable veil, heavy and oppressive. It was eerie and made the hair on the backs of their necks stand up. When they drew level with Lupin's office, they heard a strange sort of whimpering. And then, nothing. They waited, uncertain, guns drawn and hearts racing. After what seemed like ages there was the rustle of parchment. Taking a deep breath, they flung the door open, guns leading as they burst into the room. What greeted them made their jaws drop in disbelief. A large, grey wolf was blinking confusedly up at them from the hearth rug, where a pile of parchment was placed before it and an open bar of chocolate under one paw. He cocked his head to the side, ears twitching slightly and a large, red permanent marker sticking out of his mouth.


End file.
